So, this is scheduled to be my second submission, barring my finishing 'Clinic Case Files 2' prior to this one's end. It also has the distinction of being 99.9% fictional. It's genesis was reading one of the major Loving Wives authors lamenting, in his prelude, that many people had stated that there were "no new ways to discover your wife was cheating on you", which he took as a challenge. His way was new, and unique, and he presumably passed the mantle on. Challenge accepted!
I freely admit that the characters in this story ended up dictating how the story ended; I started it with a different ending in mind, but in the end, this is the ending that came out. I make no apologies for that; if someone wants to end it differently, you're welcome to write an alternate ending. However, don't write the ending in the comments. WRITE IT and submit it, all I ask is that you be otherwise true to the characters.
For those who'll criticize the long stretches of dialog banter between characters, with little external description of the events, sorry; it's just my style, and I find banter a bit better. I also try to squeeze in humor, and try to make the words the characters say reflective of a real person. If I fail to provide sufficient description, well, use your imagination to build the scene around them.
I'd like to thank Todger65 for his help editing this. He found many mistakes, and helped me correct them. I then promptly went through and rewrote it slightly, which introduced more. Perhaps you can tell where he cleaned up my praddle and made it readable, by comparing it to other sections? Regardless, any and all faults are mine.
For those who would otherwise complain, please do what I did here. Come up with your own original story, and share! I like reading new authors, when I get the time, and while until recently I've always left only anonymous comments when I commented, I felt that I owed those who kept me entertained (or enraged me with their efforts!) a duty to try to entertain them for once. Enjoy!
'Butter Pecan'
"Hey, do you want some dessert? I'm going to get something from the kitchen." I asked my wife of 13 years, Marie, taking my arm from around her where she was leaning on me as we watched the TV.
"No, I'm good, baby. Well, maybe another glass of the vino!" the five foot six bundle of beauty giggled, waving her glass around at me from the sofa as I stood. I took her glass and winked at her as I went towards the kitchen, happy knowing that later tonight, I was very likely to get lucky. Not that there had been much doubt about it, since I'd come back only five hours earlier from a three week business trip, the longest trip I'd ever had to take during our 13 year marriage.
It had also been the longest time we'd ever been apart since we met and started dating, back in college, her a junior and I a senior, 16 years earlier. I'd learned very early on that wine was the secret of Marie's libido. None, and she was a normal woman, with a normal libido. A little, she got flirty. A lot, and she would pass out. But in between 'a little' and 'a lot' was a magical place of a highly sexually charged woman, capable of putting to shame Scheherazade of 1001 Arabian Nights fame. She'd already been making subtle signals that three weeks was too long...
Pondering my lucky stars to have found this woman, I walked into the kitchen and refilled Marie's wine glass. I then thought about what I wanted for a snack, and realized I wanted something cold and creamy, ice cream. It's one of my secret vices, perhaps my only one, but I worked hard, running 4 miles every single day, to work off those calories. My vice wasn't alcohol. It wasn't cigarettes. It wasn't gambling, or porn (well, ok, maybe a little porn), and it wasn't any other drug, other than Marie herself. It was Cookies & Cream Ice Cream. I put a small bowl on the counter, grabbed the scoop, and opened the freezer door. I looked, grabbed the Cookies & Cream, and then froze in place as firmly as the ice cream, contemplating life, the universe, and everything.
You know that old meme about men holding the refrigerator door open while they stare into it? That was me. You see, there wasn't just one tub of ice cream in the freezer. There were two. My beloved Cookies & Cream, suddenly more dear to me than the woman who had a moment before been the love of my life, and the other.
Butter Pecan Ice Cream.
The thoughts that went through my head at that moment started at "What the hell?", progressed to "She's trying to kill me!" to "Oh my god, she not only killed me, she killed our marriage." Just like that, I knew my marriage to that bitch, that cheating whore, who I had loved more than life itself, until I opened the freezer door, was over. You see, Marie doesn't like ice cream; she likes sherbet, but for some reason detests ice cream. She never buys it, not unless I've specifically asked for it.
And yet, there was Butter Pecan sitting in our freezer.
Did I explain that I have a severe allergy to pecans (and a number of other tree nuts, like walnuts)? I didn't? My bad. I have a reaction that causes anaphylactic shock, severe anaphylactic shock, in less than a minute if I ingest certain nuts. Pecans are most definitely in that category, and when we had been married only a year or so, I nearly lost my life from anaphylactic shock after having a pork chop at one of our local higher end establishments. The pork chop had been dusted with ground pecans, to give it extra flavor during grilling, but it hadn't been listed as having that. I hadn't had my EpiPen (my mistake, I know), but luckily one of the other patrons of the restaurant did have one. But it still took long enough that the hospital kept me for four days to examine me for neurological damage and I'd even gone into secondary anaphylaxis in the hospital. Marie had been there; she knew it; she'd held my hand the entire fucking time I'd been in the hospital, except for when the nurses, or her bladder, had forced her away for a few minutes. Since that day, I always, and I mean always, have an EpiPen within 10 feet of me, if not on my person.
But there was someone else we both knew that loved ice cream, too. And his favorite flavor? I'll give you a guess. Jonathan Williams. Jonathan fucking Williams was the son of a bitch who had obviously spent at least some time while I was gone keeping time in my house, with my wife, over the last three weeks. Enough time (judging by what I could see in the clear container) to allow him to eat most of a gallon tub of Butter Pecan.
Jonathan Williams. Marie's last boyfriend before she and I got together.
Jonathan Williams, single, decent looking, 37 years old, relatively fit, in the outer edge of our social circle, he of the cherry muscle car he had done nothing to earn, who lived just 20 or so miles away, closer to where Marie worked. That asshole had been at my house. MY HOUSE. And if he was here, eating enough Butter Pecan to make that dint in the tub, he'd been here many nights while I was gone. He had been in my house, in my bed, and in my wife.
A leap? No, not really. I'd called Marie every night that we'd been apart (and a few times during the day, or early evening). She'd almost always answered when I called, but on the times she hadn't she always called back within 15 minutes or so. early in the trip, we'd talked for an hour or so each day, even having phone sex most nights. Later in my trip, about 9 days or so in, the calls had been shorter, and the one time we'd had phone sex (five days ago), she'd talked about being eaten out while jerking me off during the call. She'd even at one point supposedly held the phone close to her twat so I could hear how wet and squishy she was. But even that call wasn't particularly long, only a half hour before she had to go. And it was the only time in our entire marriage where I hadn't been able to get there with her when we had phone sex. Something about it hadn't started my motor running like it normally does when we talk dirty.
I hadn't expected, or even had a nightmare, about Marie cheating on me, but Butter Pecan had suddenly cleared a lot of things in my head up. I was stunned. I was hurt. I was angry. But I wasn't in denial. Marie was cheating on me with Jonathan Asshole Williams the Fuckteenth.
It was hard to believe partially because of the way they broke up. They had been hot and heavy as a couple, until he got caught seeing some girl on the side. There had been some argument that I heard vague bits about, with the result being them breaking up. Prior to that, they'd both been on the outer fringes of my social circle, so I didn't follow the ins and outs closely, pun not intended.
I returned my beloved Cookies & Cream to the freezer, no longer feeling a desire for ice cream. What I had instead was a deep hunger for revenge, for justice, for hurting those who had hurt me.
I picked up the wine glass and twirled the pale pink liquid around in the glass. I must have done it for longer than I thought, because I was broken out of my dark thoughts when I heard Marie's voice from the family room. "Hank, honey, everything all right? You're taking a long time to fetch a snack and some wine!"
"Oh, I'll be there in a moment. I have to wash the ice cream scoop, and it's got some gunk on it." I replied back, turning on the kitchen faucet to cover. I needed a plan. I needed it fast. It didn't have to be perfect, in the long run, but it had to be good for now. I did not want to have sex tonight, but I needed an excuse to not have sex with her. It wouldn't have been making love, not anymore, it would have been screwing a cheap slut now. How quickly our thoughts go dark when they first head there! From 'love of my life, the most beautiful woman I know' to 'cheap slut' in so short a time!
I carried out the wine glass to Marie, but did not sit back down on the sofa. "Thank you! Oh, where's your ice cream, Hank?" Marie smirked at me, knowing my weakness, damn her.
"I'm not in the mood for a regular ice cream now, not after the gunk on the scoop." True, I wasn't in the mood for anything, actually, but I didn't vocalize that. "I figured instead I'd run out to the DQ and get a milkshake. You want one?" Quick thinking... milkshakes and wine don't go together, so she'd decline, and it would let me out of the house, alone, for thirty minutes to think. She wouldn't come with me, as she'd already half undressed when she got home.
"Only if they have a pinot grigio milkshake!" she giggled.
"Just for you, I'll ask" I forced myself to flirt with her. "I'm not sure they'll have it. Would a rose milkshake be okay instead?" I continued. One of the best acting jobs I think I'd ever done, saying it light and flirtatiously, not shaking like a leaf, even though my heart was beating so fast I felt like it was going to leap out of my throat.
"Oh, definitely. Why don't you hurry on out for those milkshakes, and maybe they'll be a different milkshake a little later!" she responded, raising one eyebrow and swaying just enough that her freed breasts swayed back and forth under her half open shirt. God, I used to love those little innuendos with her.
